She’s on the run, from whom or what, she does not know. She wants to go home, but she lacks the courage. It no longer feels like home anymore, since she moved out and they moved in.
Her head is in the clouds, with the butterflies and birds. And she soars with the rainbow colours of the hot air balloons and glides with the gliders in the bluest of skies. She dreams of free falling, but who will catch her?
Because when she falls, and she falls often, she breaks, and when she breaks, she hurts, she hurts a lot.
So, after this latest skyfall, she looks down at her feet, Cinderella feet, which, once upon a time, danced the nights away, but now won’t support her broken bones.
But still she hopes and prays for the strength and the chance to dance again.
Feeling breathless, she finds a quiet place to lay down and rest. Searching for peace of mind, she surrenders as sleep carries her into its’ healing embrace.
Memoirs from Headcorn in Kent: The Garden of England.
Home is not only a place, it’s a state of mind…